


Make a Wish

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-20 23:48:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3669579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Root/Shaw prompt: It's Root's birthday, but she doesn't expect any presents or a party because she is pretty sure none of the team knew her birthday. Shaw didn't say anything in the morning when they woke up and they went through a normal day working numbers. However when Root gets back to the subway she is shocked to see the entire team is there with cake and presents for her. She is even more shocked that it was all Shaw's idea, and even more more shocked about Shaw's gift to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make a Wish

Root awakens to an icy but soft object hitting her roughly across the face. Darting straight up in bed, she feels it fall away, landing in her lap. A coat.

"Put that on," Shaw tells her, and she looks across the room, seeing Shaw yanking on a boot. "We’ve gotta go."

"I’m not even dressed," Root replies, mind still run back with fatigue.  _What day is it?_  She asks herself. Turning to the bedside table, she hits the power button on her phone. She looks at it a moment, unsure if she believes it.  _But it’s there,_ she confirms, eyelids drawing back in surprise.  _It’s today._

"You should have thought of that before you ignored my first  _three_  attempts,” Shaw shoots back with an edge to her tone. “Now come one, we have to go.”

With a sigh, Root pulls off the covers, cold morning air hitting her legs, and she briskly comes over to the dresser, pulling out a pair of jeans. She slips them on quickly, and goes for socks when Shaw starts heading for the door. With a final tug, she yanks them on, not bothering to change her shirt as she steals the coat from the bed. She buttons it up as she walks, then pulls on boots at the door.

* * *

 

As Shaw starts to turn the doorknob, Root halts. “Wait, I need to brush my teeth!” She exclaims, mind finally coming to. She darts off to the bathroom, hearing Shaw’s disgruntled groan from behind.  _And my hair_ , Root tells herself with a small chuckle, seeing its wary state in the mirror. She gets ready quickly, not wanting to make Shaw wait long.

"I can’t believe it’s today," she tells herself in the mirror, then rushes out into the living room, coming back to the entrance. Shaw looks at her briefly before opening the door, and together, they step out. Walking down the apartment hallway, Root can’t help but look at her. She takes in Shaw’s dark attire coupled with a serious countenance. Her heart flutters in its cage as her eyes take in each detail. She doesn’t know, Root things with a grateful smile.  _She doesn’t know- no one knows- what today is._

Shaw looks over at Root with the corner of her eye, then does a double take. “What are you  _looking_  at, Root?” Shaw asks a little too defensively, and Root’s smile pulls up with affection.

"Just admiring the view," she replies, and Shaw rolls her eyes, casting them away. After looking at Shaw a second longer, amused smirk toying with her features, she looks forward at the elevator door.  _That today… is my birthday._

__________\ If Your Number’s Up /___________

After a quick debriefing with Harold and slight bantering with John and Lionel, the two women find themselves in front of a large brick building down a New York side street. On a bronze plaque drilled to the wall, it reads:

Bull Pen Gym- MMA, Boxing, and Recreational Activities.

The door is made of a thick glass, and Root pulls on it with a great deal of force before it finally swings open. Inside, the gym is a whole other world. Contrasting greatly with its simplistic exterior, the inside is nothing but shimmering hard wood floors and vibrant white walls. There are three large, elevated rings across the center of the rectangular room, all lined with ropes and surrounded by mats down below. The back wall is filled with an array of gloves, mouth guards, and other safety equipment, along with a few rows of lockers. Large punching bags swing from the ceiling, and treadmills and weight machines run down the opposite wall. All around, sweaty, built men punch and yell and laugh. From a small office beside the door, a man walks out with a slightly round belly and wide mustache. He has a toothpick in his mouth, and he chews on the end as he stops before them.

"You here to pick up your gents?" He asks, eyeing them up with eagerness. Root presses her lips together in a thin smile, while Shaw doesn’t try to hide her annoyance in the slightest.

"No." He looks down at her, tall-frame Goliath over a small David, and he gives her a wicked smirk.

"Here to train? ‘Cause this might be a little too  _tough_  for you  _women_  ty-“

"We’re just looking for a friend," Root interrupts him, feeling Shaw’s anger radiating heat in the air. "We’ll only be a second." He grunts, lips curling up in a sickening smile as he raises his eyebrows self-indulgently at Shaw. His eyes scream of her weakness.

"You’re lucky I’m  _not_  here to train,” she spits, turning on her heel and following Root off. He looks her up and down from behind, wondering if it’s worth the challenge. After a moment, he lets out a whistle, then beckons to one of the men at the arm press.

"Hi," Root says in an overly sweet tone, flashing a dazzling smile at the four men standing around the water tank. They all stop their conversation to gawk at her. "Does anyone know Gregory Mathis?"

"Oh, you lookin’ for Ponyboy," a blonde man says, and the others laugh. "He’ll be comin’ in later, honey."

” _Don’t_  tell me,” another of the men says, humored smile on his dark face. “Don’t tell me he  _ever_  got himself a girl as  _fine_  as you.” Shaw rolls her eyes, looking off. She sees the man from the office talking to a heavy-built man, arms rippling with too much muscle, as they both devour her with their eyes. She sneers their way, and the office man beckons for her to come forward.

_No way in-_

"Is there anything we can do to entertain you until he shows up, honey?" The men chuckle slightly before another picks up.

"You look like the kind of girl that can appreciate a good fight. We could give you a few pointers."

"Yeah,  _show_  you a thing or two.” They murmur in more laughter, and without even looking, Shaw can feel the exuberant smile on Root’s face. With a slight shake of her head and a huff, she walks over to the pair with icy eyes.

"Thanks, boys," Root says kindly, "but that’s alright. When did you say he’s coming in?" Her words are sweet but her eyes flicker with the need to escape.

“‘Bout twenty minutes,” the blonde says with the flip of his hair. “But don’t worry,  _we’ll_  keep you company.” Root scrunches her nose, trying desperately to remain conversational.  _Considering Shaw isn’t saying a word_ , she fumes to herself, looking over the guys. They wear dopey, over-confident smiles and puff out their chests dominantly.

"Say," a different man- this one a red head with no shirt- beckons. "You live around here? We’d love to buy you a drink some time."

"Yeah," the one with chocolate skin agrees. "You seem like a party girl."

"Thanks for the offer," Root tells them, finally having enough. "But we’re not really into the whole party thing, are we Sa-" Root stops short, looking to the empty space at her right. Her brow furrows.  _Where is she?_

There is the sound of a struggle behind her, then the loud thud of bodies on floors, and Root quickly turns around. Her eyes come to one of the rings, stopping with fixed awe.

There is a burly man, at least 250, with short cropped black hair and bulging veins that scream of steroids. He rolls over, jumping to his feet, as his much smaller opponent rises, hands up and ready to strike. She throws out a foot covered with only a black sock, and it connects to his left side. He lunges forward to swing, but she uses his momentum, throwing him into the ring’s ropes. Once he bounces back, she wraps an arm around his neck, pulling back tight. Putting all his weight into it, he throws his back over, and she goes flying around- all the while never letting go. Her back hits the ring with a sick thud, and the man quickly topples down over her. She slides out of the way just as he crashes down, then wraps her legs around his neck, using her arms to twist his left all the way back until it seems ready to pop. He groans in pain, face turning red as sweat pours down, trying desperately to breathe.

"Tap out," she commands, but he doesn’t obey. She yanks his arm back further, and he moans in agony. "I said tap  _out_.” He bangs his right hand against the floor in defeat, and she instantly lets go of him, smoothing her hair back as she stands.

 _Shaw._ Root can feel the overjoyed smile stretching from ear to ear on her face as she watches Shaw meander to the far side of the rink, leaning against the ropes as she talks to the office man from before. Her smile grows in satisfaction as she takes in his angry red face and clenched fists. Shaw turns away from him, smug smirk on her face, and her eyes meet Root’s. She keeps them there as she sits on the ring floor, sliding under the ropes and hopping down onto the mats below. Root walks forward, eyes intense and doting.

"Sweetie, there’s  _no_  need to show off,” Root tells her amiably, no hints of chastisement in her voice. Shaw’s smirk only deepens.

"Wasn’t trying to," she responds casually. "But it was just too  _easy_.” Briefly peering over Root’s shoulder, she sees the four men from the water station staring with saucers for eyes and gaping mouths. She has the sudden urge to grab Root’s hand, put a hand around her waist- anything- to show them Root’s not up for grabs. _I could take each and every one of you_ , her eyes tell them over Root’s shoulder,  _and I could do it at the same time._ She decides against it, however, just as her phone rings.

"Hello?" She says, bringing it up to her ear. She’s silent for a moment, listening. " _Really_?” Her tone is less than amused. More silence, then she rolls her eyes. “Is there  _anything_  you can do  _right_?” She asks peevishly, then sighs. “I’m on my way. Don’t- don’t  _touch_  anything.” Hanging up, she gives a disgruntled shake of the head, but stops when she sees Root’s eyes on her.

"Who was that?" Root asks, head tilting to the side.

"John," she replies. "He’s working on a number- it’s not going well."

"Are we going-"

” _You’re_  going no where,” Shaw informs her, walking to the mats to pull on her shoes. “Gregory is going to show up at some point.  _I_ , however, am going to help John.” Before Root can contradict, Shaw pulls the collar of her trench-coat up around her neck, then walks from the gym.  _She seems a lot more closed off than usual,_ Root thinks with a slight pout. Then, taking in a calming breath, she turns back to the men at the water station to wait.

____________\ We’l Find You /__________

Walking back from the gym, Root watches as the sun dips below the skyline. The number was fine, everything was fine-  _except for me._ Her mind runs a mile a minute, filled with unanswered questions and puzzles unsolved.  _Where did Shaw go? What did John need? Is everyone alright? Why has no one answered me?_  She tries for the umpteenth time to patch through on her ear wig, but all she receives is dead static. Picking up her pace, she turns at the corner, boots clicking against the sidewalk.

By the time she gets back, the sun has completely disappeared, leaving a night’s chill in its wake. The cold paints her cheeks pink and dyes her nose red, and she stuffs her hands into her pockets. Finally, she comes to the Subway Station, and after a quick look around, descends the stairs.

She walks through two long corridors of discarded materials, abandoned tarps, and iron support beams- a tomb left untouched by the world above.  _Except for us,_  Root thinks with a smile, stepping over a large plank as she presses on. A large rat darts across the hall, disappearing into a hole in the wall.  _And them._

Root hears voices from up ahead and stops, light just shy of touching her boots around the corner.

"She probably knows now," Shaw hisses, heels clicking on the tile as she paces to and fro.

"I highly doubt that," Harold replies in a more level tone. "Can we please move this  _away_  from the computer?”

"Where else is there to put it?" John asks.

"Shouldn’t Banana Nut Crunch be here by now?" Fusco questions, and a man’s footstep starts to roam.

"Who knows," Shaw replies, voice edgy with fret and impatience. "And can you take that  _damn_  hat off the dog?!”

"Oh  _c’mon_ ,” Fusco whines. “It’ll be great!”

"She’ll turn up eventually," Harold cuts in, then there is typing. Root inches forward, and her foot nicks a tin can, sending it skittering to the side. It sounds like a bomb in the quiet, and it echoes with the volume of an erupting volcano. The clicking stops.

Root swears under her breath before walking into the station. Her mind is consumed by the unkown, and she steps into the light with a serious expression. She halts in her tracks, eyes pulling wide in bewildered silence.  _What the…_

The subway car has red streamers dangling from the windows, and they sway in the small current of air that travels through the tunnel. On Harold’s desk is a white-frosted cake; it teeters precariously on the table’s edge. Further back, on the bench, are a few boxes in colorful paper. Looking to the four people before her, she takes them in. John is standing, signature smirk on his face and dark eyes that shimmer pleasantly in the light. Fusco wears a rather dopey grin, pleased with her stunned reaction. Harold has on a mostly straight face, save for the quirk of a side smile, but his eyes are aglow with amusement and anticipation. Finally, Root’s eyes stop on Shaw. Her face is expressionless, lips unreadable as they are in neither a smile nor a frown. Her arms are crossed as she slouches to the side. Her eyes are mostly empty, but Root can see something swimming within them. _Is that trepidation?_  She wonders to herself. With everything absorbed, Root at long last smiles, surprise fading to the back of her mind.

There is the sound of nails on tile, and a moment later Bear runs out of the subway car, coming to her in welcome, a paper birthday hat on his head. He shakes, the elastic neck strap breaking, and he proceeds to pounce on it, chewing it happily. Walking past him with kind eyes, she looks back to the rest of them, specifically Harold.

"How did you know?" She asks him, and his short smile drops. Widening his eyes, he flicks them to his right, head jerking along with them. Confused, Root looks in that direction-  _Shaw._

” _You_?” Root asks, beyond the point of disbelief. Shaw merely shrugs her shoulders, not meeting Root’s eye. Root smiles at her none the less, a large, content smile.

"D’you like it?" Shaw asks, unfolding her arms to gesture around.

"She better," Fusco grumbles. "Your whole  _drill sergeant_  act better not have been for nothing.” Shaw shoots him a cross glare.

"I was not a drill ser-"

"You kinda were," John cuts in, smirk curling up with amusement. "Between bossing us around and calling us idiots."

"How hard is it to figure out  _streamers_?” Shaw spits back in a low voice, yet her seething tone still carries. Root can feel the smile on her face only growing wider.

"I love it," she tells them, eyes on Shaw. Shaw keeps her eyes on her, and they seem to relax. "Thank you," Root says kindly, looking to each of them in turn.

"This way, Miss. Groves," Harold beckons towards the bench. She closes her eyes, shaking her head lightly.

"You guys really didn’t have to-"

"Don’t make us bring you at gun point," John says, and she opens her eyes. There is a smile on his charming face. "You know we will." With a small laugh, Root complies, following Harold further back, accompanied by John, Shaw, and Lionel. On the bench are three neatly wrapped packages, and, with an encouraging look from Harold, she sits. Feeling slightly awkward-  _I haven’t celebrated in years_ \- she looks around for anything to relieve her tension. She sees Shaw watching her, and she gives a coy smirk, patting on the bench space beside her. Shaw gives her a you’re-out-of-your-mind look, but after a moment, she comes forward with the roll of her eyes. She sits beside Root, who instantly feels the pressure fall away.

She picks up the first box she sees, spinning it around in her hands. “Reese,” Root reads off with a smile. Pulling it open she finds a bulky alarm clock within. She can’t help the pleasured laugh that comes to her mouth as she looks down at its vibrant blue color. Feeling breath on her shoulder, she looks to her left and sees Shaw leaning over to see. Realizing she’s been caught, Shaw draws back swiftly, ears reddening in agitation.

"Now the two of you don’t have an excuse for showing up late," John tells her with good humor, and she grins.

"There’s  _always_  an excuse.” She feels a heat wave radiate from Shaw at the words, and crinkles her nose in satisfaction. “Thanks, John.” Placing the box down, she picks up the next, thin, smooth object. “Harold Finch,” she reads the name printed on the front before pulling off the paper. Once it’s all off, she can’t help but admire. “A- laptop?” She asks in surprise, taking in its small but sleek outside.

"A miniature one, it’s easier to carry around," he informs her, smiling wide through his eyes, more than pleased with the reaction his gift has given her.

"Thank you," she says with a lot of heart, handing it to Shaw as she reaches for the last. Unsure what to do with it, she places it on the bench beside her. "Detective Fusco." She reads, a smirk on her face as she pulls open the oddly shaped package. A taser and zip ties.

"As much as you use ‘em, thought you could use restocking." She gives him a large, toothy grin as she picks up the taser. Clicking it, it zaps to life, a blue light streak emitting in its center. "Be careful where you  _point_  that thing!” Fusco commands, seeing the devilish light in her eyes. Flicking it off, she thanks him as well.

 _What’s that sound?_  Root wonders, hearing a constant thump and slurp. It seems that everyone else notices as well, and they all look around for its source.

"No! My computer!" Harold exclaims, pushing past John as he rushes forward. Bear has his front legs on Harold’s chair, and he licks away at the cake frosting hungrily, messy icening splatters all over Harold’s monitors and keyboard.

” _Runter_!” Harold yells in an authoritative voice. Taken off guard, Bear gives a small jump- enough to send the unstable cake flying. Bear steps off of the chair just in time to get a large white cake atop his head. He shakes, sending cream and cake flying in all directions, and Harold finds himself coated. Harold wipes his glasses, then lunges for the German Shepard. Up for a game, Bear jumps back, tail wagging. Shaking once more, he runs to the far end of the subway station to grab a toy, tracking cake along the way. “ _Hör auf_!” Harold calls out, chasing after him. John and Lionel share entertained looks before walking over to help them.

"I think this is our cue," Shaw says, standing. Root stands beside her, unsure of what she means. Seeing the quizzical countenance on Root’s face, Shaw elaborates, but only to unlock more mystery. "Well, they aren’t the  _only_  ones who have something for you.”

” _Oh_?” Root asks.

"Dinner," Shaw tells her, and Root becomes serious. "Just the two of us." A smile comes to her face as she walks away from the bench with Shaw, more than surprised.  _The two of us?_

"You planned dinner?" Root asks, unable to keep the delight from her voice.

"No," Shaw answers, looking over to Harold as he tries to catch an uncooperative Bear, and the Detectives as they watch. "They did, I just agreed." She looks at Root out of the corner of her eye.

"No, we didn’t," John calls back to Root, and Shaw’s eyes dart back to them heatedly. John turns to face them, and Fusco soon after.

"Yeah, what dinner?" Lionel asks John, who gives a small shrug. Shaw sneers at them, full of contempt.

"They’re  _lying_ ,” Shaw sneers, putting emphasis on the word ‘lying.’  _You’re signal to help me out._ The men both see it, and shake their heads no.

"Well,  _whoever_  planned this,” Root says, slipping her hand into Shaw’s, who turns her head to look at her, “I think it’s very sweet.” The smallest of smiles comes to Shaw’s face briefly- if you hadn’t known a smile could be that small, you’d have sworn it was an illusion- and she starts walking once more. Root trails at her side, unable to rid herself of a giddy smile. “So, what’s on the menu?” Root asks, and Shaw gives a small snort.

"Whatever the  _restaurant_  has,” she replies, and Root feels her heart rage as butterflies invade her stomach. “I wanted to give you a good time, not give you food poisoning.” Root laughs, leaning her head on the top of Shaw’s as they come to the exit.

"Thanks, Sam. This is- it’s.." she stops talking, letting the sentence finish in her mind.  _It’s the best present I’ve ever gotten._


End file.
